Draco's Penseive: Part 1
by SarahWritesShit
Summary: **HPCC SPOILERS** This takes place after Astoria's death and before the time-travelling incident. Draco starts to cope with Astoria's death by reliving the past in his penseive. We take a look into his life as a husband and father, and also see the transition from Death Eater teen to tolerant adult. Please read Author's Note.


Draco's Penseive

AN: This is just a three chapter sampling of what the rest of the story will be like, if it is good enough to continue writing. PLEASE give me constructive criticism! This is my first time writing publicly, so please don't be too harsh lol.

It will come in two one takes place after Astoria died and before Scorpius's time travelling adventure. In order to cope with the loss of his wife, Draco begins to reminisce on the past by looking through memories in his penseive. We see him relive his life as a married man to Astoria, the challenges he has faced as a father, as well as his transition from Death Eater teen to tolerant adult.

Part two will take place with Draco as an elderly man, reflecting on his life due to his impending death. He looks through the penseive and relives his time as an older man and what it was like to watch his son go through his adolescence and adulthood.

 **PART 1**

Chapter 1

For two whole days, Draco had been sitting in a painful silence. This silence was really only filled with an occasional sigh, footsteps from either himself, his son, the house elf, or a large and elderly Irish Wolfhound. Aside from that, the house seemed eerily empty—it should have always felt like that, really, since there were only three people filling an eight-bedroom manor with an array of large and essentially unused rooms. But it was the loss of one of those three that utterly drained the house of any liveliness. Two days before now, Draco Malfoy was standing over his wife Astoria alongside his twelve-year-old son as the life drained from her already lackluster and glazed eyes. There had been quite a bit of tears the day it happened, but since then, both Draco and his son Scorpius had cried their eyes dry. The overwhelming sadness was replaced by such a numb and lethargic feeling that was so strongly present throughout the house that everything seemed like slow motion.

It was already noon, Draco was laying on a black leather sofa in his library, staring up at the ceiling and absentmindedly patting his Irish Wolfhound, Jaunty, on the head. He was thinking of nothing in particular other than the fact that Scorpius was either still asleep or simply choosing not to leave his bedroom. Draco was tired. He had been exhausted by doing absolutely nothing and feeling absolutely nothing, and after an almost three day stretch of this monotony, Draco had been craving to experience something— _anything_. He lacked any drive to bathe, shave, get dressed, and maybe spend a day walking Jaunty through the fields around the manor or go shopping in Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley. He also knew very well that Scorpius would have even less of a desire to accompany him on an outing of any sort, especially since going out in public was very seldom a cheerful experience for a Malfoy. Instead Draco found himself walking up to the third floor of his home, where his special room for his collection of magical artifacts was.

The room was very dark and private—the only light present was seeping through a slit between the black curtains that draped a relatively small window. The whole room was full of shelves and cabinets, and the walls were paneled with exquisite dark mahogany woodwork. Draco passed through his shelves full of alchemy books and magical antiques to find a full-sized mirror trimmed with a garish silver frame bearing the Black Family crest and motto. He swung the heavy panel of glass and silver to reveal a shallow silver basin, brimming with memories Draco had been saving for times like this. Without thinking or hesitation, Draco dove his head right in, ready to take on any emotion provoked from whatever memory he was about to see.

Draco once again found himself in his manor. He was staring at his seventeen-year-old self, his white blond hair disheveled and his alabaster skin tainted with smoke, dirt, dust, and dried blood. He was standing in the foyer with his mother holding his hand. His father arrived seconds after them. His mother Narcissa let go of young Draco's hand and spun around to look at her husband. Both Narcissa and Lucius stared at each other with wide eyes and gaping mouths, clearly lost in the overwhelming thoughts of what had just happened. Voldemort was vanquished, completely gone. The three were liberated from Voldemort's micromanaging and monopolization of every aspect of their lives. The three also failed in the sense that the Death Eaters had failed—the prospect of a totally pureblooded society under Voldemort's reign was completely undermined. The three were also shocked by fact that seventeen-year-old Harry Potter had defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time in a duel by simply disarming him. Current Draco looked at his mother, whose chest was heaving with uneven breaths as though she had run long distance with a tight airway. Draco's father was staring at her with just as much intensity, but his head was tilted forward, his eyes peering up and around from a downward angle, making his mixture of elation, confusion, and exhaustion evident. Finally, after a long moment of not facing his parents, swallowing deeply and mulling over the past day or so in his mind, young Draco finally turned to his parents.

"If that Potter hadn't pulled through—," Lucius began, breathing deeply.

"We would all be dead," Narcissa whispered, staring at the wooden floor.

Lucius stepped toward his wife and took hold of both of her limp arms and asked, "Narcissa, why did you lie through your teeth to the Dark Lord? You—you had to have known that Potter was still alive."

"I knew if he thought he had triumphed, that he would parade everyone back to the castle, where Draco may have been," she looked over at young Draco, still expressionless with shock, with tears welling in her eyes; "I needed to see for myself that—that you were… _ok_."

Narcissa pulled her arms out from Lucius's grasp, and held them out towards young Draco, desperately yearning to hug her only boy, who had nearly slipped through her fingers. The two hugged tightly, and in that moment, current Draco recalled that all he could think of at the time was, ' _we went through all of that for so long, all of that stress, just to get rid of the Mudbloods? That was honestly going to be the only reward? For all of that in exchange? And to not even win…'_

Draco pulled from the memory, satisfied only that viewing the memory had slightly assuaged his boredom. Other than that, Draco rolled his eyes and groaned at the fact that, of all the memories he had saved, he had gone into one full of confusion and anguish. He would have much preferred a memory consisting of pure joy, rather than a more ambiguous one where he had to dig for the happiness in it whilst examining it through a lens of positivity. He was just barely able to force himself to acknowledge that young Draco was also feeling relief and peace at that time.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack coming from behind Draco. The house elf was in the room to dust the contents of the shelves, the enormous green eyes somehow managed to becoming even wider at the surprise of seeing Draco.

"Oh! Oh! Master Draco! Tinker did not expect Master Draco here! Tinker thought Master Draco be in the library!"

"Good morning, Tinker. I only just got up here. Tell me, is Scorp awake at all?"

"Yes! Master Scorpius only opened his door a bit. Tinker only saw half of Master Scorpius's face. Master Scorpius asked for a glass of water to be brought to his room, Master Draco."

"Did he look alright?"

"Very tired, sir. Very red and puffy in the face, sir."

"Thank you, Tinker. Carry on."

"Yes, Master Draco!"

And with that, Draco left his collections room, descending down a spiral stair case to his son's room, almost nervous to talk to him. They really hadn't accosted each other since looking at photo albums together the night Astoria passed. Scorpius had asked his dad for some privacy the morning afterward, and Draco had respected his wishes and kept to himself since. But Draco also thought that it was unwell to isolate yourself from your father indefinitely, just after your own mother had died. No matter how much a young boy would insist that they wanted to cope independently, Draco knew from experience that alone time only worked for so long.

Draco was soon leaning his body against the threshold of Scorpius's bedroom door, tapping it gently with two of his knuckles.

"Scorpius, my boy, it's quite late—nearly one. You want to start thinking about coming out?"

Scorpius opened his door all the way, and stood before his dad with his head tilted up at him. Tinker was quite right. Scorpius looked dreadfully tired, but it seemed as though Scorpius's face had recovered somewhat from the crying he must have been doing earlier that day. Scorpius exhaled through his nose quite loudly, comically feigning exasperation.

"Morning, Dad," Scorpius said with very little inflection.

Draco shook his head slightly and smirked, giggling the tiniest bit, and looked down at his son, still leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.

"It's not morning, Scorp," he said with a cheeky grin and a chuckle; "far from it, actually."

Scorpius couldn't help but return the slight laugh and grin, he then proceeded to rub his right eye with his palm, furthering his tired appearance.

"How about a little breakfast—and a little lunch, whatever you want," Draco offered, looking at his son intently, but still grinning at the fact that he was having the chance to see him for the first time in a couple days.

"Yeah, sure," said Scorpius through a hearty yawn. As soon as he stepped out of his bedroom and into the hallway, Draco put an arm around Scorpius's shoulder and escorted him to the staircase, where Scorpius sat down on the railing, sliding down the smooth and perfectly polished wood. Draco watched his son from behind, happy to see his boy out in the open, doing something he always did (he seldom walked down the stairs traditionally). Seeing the old Scorpius was like seeing the old manor come to life again for a short moment after a few days of dormancy.

Chapter 2

Draco and Scorpius sat across from one another at the breakfast nook, slowly sipping some tea Draco had brewed while waiting for Tinker to arrive and whip up their brunch-eques meal. Draco ran his fingers up and down the sides of his mug, wondering what to talk to Scorpius about. Would his son want to talk about Astoria? For closure's sake? Would he want to talk about something entirely different to take his mind off things? As much as Draco tried tirelessly to understand his son perfectly, there were always sometimes when being a father just left you utterly puzzled about what to do and what to say. This was one of those moments. Draco ultimately decided to resort to small talk, and if Astoria came up in conversation, he wouldn't fight it.

"Can't believe you're going to be entering your third year already," Draco said, looking up at his son with a smile. He was putting up a façade of confidence, when really he had no idea where the conversation was going to take them, and he had quite literally just blurted out the first neutral statement that came to his mind.

"You know the past two school years have seemed rather fast—well first year felt like an eternity while it was happening, and then suddenly it was time for exams and then summer. I can't quite believe I'm in third year either," Scorpius said, reflecting as he was speaking. Scorpius never really took the time to look back on the school year itself, but rather just focused on the time he had spent with his best friend Albus.

"That's how I felt when I was in school too, the first few years were such a blur, and then suddenly I found that I only had three years left. You're excited to see Albus again, I presume? Only about two or three a week or so left until the start of term."

"Yeah, I'm excited about Albus—and the library, but mostly Albus."

Draco gave a slight chuckle, simply because he had expected nearly that exact answer from Scorpius. He was also relieved that Scorpius had things to look forward to, that he was staying somewhat positive through all of this. He knew his son was hurting, terribly; Scorpius was rather close with Astoria after all. But he was glad to see that Scorpius was able to be sad about something and acknowledge his feelings while not dwelling on things. Draco had always admired his boy's optimism.

"Have you been writing to Albus lately?"

"Erm—no—I have no idea what to say. There's so much I want to tell him, so much I _need_ to tell him, rather. I just, I just have no idea how to word things. I don't want Albus to pity me. And I hate having to think about what's happened long enough to write them down, if that makes sense."

It made perfect sense, and it broke Draco's heart. He had no intention of getting onto the topic of Astoria so easily and quickly. But at least Draco knew now that Scorpius did not want to talk about Astoria. If he couldn't bring himself to write it all down in a letter to his very best friend, Draco couldn't imagine it would have been much easier for him to say it out loud at this point. Even with Draco's new understanding of what his son needed from him in terms of support, there was still a long and pregnant pause for a moment as Draco swallowed what his son had just told him.

Tinker arrived in the kitchen with a loud crack, which broke both Draco's and Scorpius's concentration. It was actually more of a blessing than a noisy surprise or interruption. It broke the silence, the re-instilled sadness and stillness that had been flooding the house recently.

"Master Draco, Master Scorpius, what is it you need?" asked Tinker with a low bow, tugging on the hem of his old pillowcase outfit.

"French toast, Tinker, if you could," replied Scorpius, looking down into his teacup, stirring the tea with his spoon for no reason; "And some hot sandwiches too, please" replied Scorpius, finally looking over at the small but plump house elf.

Tinker stood there, staring at Scorpius and rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands held behind his back, accentuating the paunchy gut that hid beneath the thin pillowcase. Tinker always looked like and had the mannerisms of a fat and charismatic toddler. He was really quite cute for a house elf. Despite the gray skin and abnormally large eyes, nose, and ears, Tinker's round and chubby face cancelled nearly all of that out.

"Yes Master Scorpius, Tinker is happy to serve!"

Scorpius turned back to his dad who was flipping through a Daily Prophet that had been dropped off by an owl earlier that day and was set on the breakfast nook by Tinker. Draco saw Scorpius's face shift towards him, so he immediately put the paper down and redirected his attention to his son, only to find that Scorpius was actually just staring off into the distance somewhere around his father. It was instantly clear that not a single thought lived behind Scorpius's blank eyes.

"Well, Scorp," Draco said, determined to get Scorpius out of the daze that he immediately recognized as someone revisiting their sadness; "I'm glad you have something to look forward to this year. Tell me again, what subjects have they got you signed up for?"

"Well, I've got my seven core classes, of course. For my electives, I definitely want to take Arithmancy, but I'm still debating between Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies," said Scorpius in a matter-of-factly way that was almost enthusiastic, as though he had carefully planned out what to take for quite some time.

"Interesting, interesting. I presume you'll be talking to McGonagall or someone else at the start of term for some advice?"

"Yeah, I'll try to talk to someone if I'm still unsure by the time I get there. Part of me also feels like I should be taking Care of Magical Creatures just because, as you know, I want to learn about all facets of the world, magical and non-magical—which includes animals. Only trouble is that non-domesticated animals make me go weak-kneed. The things freak me out."

"You always have been a—what's the word?"

"Hermit? Recluse? Shut-in?"

"Well now you make it sound like such a bad thing. I was going to say... homebody," said Draco with an almost-nervous giggle. During the months leading up to Scorpius initially going off to school at Hogwarts, Draco and Astoria began to really prepare him for the constant socialization of boarding school. They tried so hard to protect him from the horrible rumors that surrounded their son that they ultimately resorted to the rather extreme solution of keeping him secluded in the protections of Malfoy Manor. For a while Scorpius felt sort of resentful towards his parents for not allowing him to really experience anything on his own. But once Scorpius came back the manor for his first Christmas during his Hogwarts years, he was back to his normal, non-resentful self. Even though Scorpius was only able to really make one friend, he was incredibly grateful—and surprised—to make that friend at all, and his little grudge against his parents seemed to melt away. Two years later, Draco and Scorpius found themselves able to laugh about it, somewhat. It was more like brushing it off.

Chapter 3

Much later that same evening, Draco found himself wide awake despite the hour. He was laying in his bed, staring up at the high ceiling of the master bedroom at the manor. He could not stop thinking about Scorpius calling himself a _hermit_ , a _recluse,_ a _shut-in_ , because, after all, Draco did technically do that to him. Even though it seemed like Scorpius had moved past it, Draco could not. He felt irreparably guilty over the fact that he had put his son through years of loneliness and friendlessness, aside from himself and Astoria. Thinking such things put him back into the same mood he felt earlier that day, that same depressive mood that Draco so craved to escape from. Despite being quite disappointed in the memory the Penseive put before him earlier, Draco felt the need to go back. Escaping even to a sad memory was still escaping. And the slight twinge in his stomach caused by the guilt he felt over making that mistake as a parent was enough to make him want to escape. Guilt was the last thing he needed.

He made himself sit up, out of his king size bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, and looked over at the marble and mahogany bedside table, where an old lamp was illuminating the area with a faint, golden glow. He saw the picture of himself and Astoria, holding newborn Scorpius. Astoria was holding the bundle of blankets, leaning against Draco. Draco saw himself looking over Astoria's shoulder, down onto the tiny baby, with an enormous grin on his face. When the picture moved, it showed Draco wiping a tear from his right eye, and Astoria beaming up at him. It hurt to see Astoria again, and he almost felt compelled to turn the photo down against the tabletop, but he couldn't bring himself to do it when happy baby Scorpius was also in the photo. After looking at it intently for a long moment, Draco left the photo standing and went off to his room full of artifacts.

He went into the corridors of the manor without thinking. He was exhausted, and it dreadfully late and quiet throughout the house. His exhaustion put him into a dazed trance that made it feel like nothing was really piloting him—not his hollowed-out and sleepy brain, and not his numb legs either. He was in a true zombie-like state, walking up to the room with the Penseive.

The room was pitch black, and Draco couldn't even see his white hands right in front of him. Because he has forgotten his wand in the bedroom, he had to feel his way around to a lamp tucked away in the far corner of the room. 'What an idiotic place to put the lamp,' he thought. After fumbling across the dark and cluttered room to the lamp, Draco was finally able to navigate in the dim glow that just barely brightened the room enough that he could make out the outline of everything on the shelves. Once he got the old Black family mirror, he unveiled the penseive and slowly, sleepily, dived in.

He entered a memory where he found himself in his bed once again, this time with Astoria. It must have been years ago; his hairline had not yet had the chance to recede quite as much. He was guessing he looked to be about 30 or so, give or take a few years. Current Draco plopped down on the armchair by the window, wanted to be able to take in every moment he had with Astoria (even though the more logical part of him knew very well that he, current Draco, was not _with_ her at all). This memory was already turning out to be better that the last one he had seen.

Draco saw himself sitting up in bed, reading the gossip section of the Daily Prophet. He recognized that specific issue of the Daily Prophet almost immediately—it was the first one to accuse Scorpius of being Voldemort's son. The issue was released May 2006, just one month after Scorpius was born. But based on the wrinkling of the edges and some rings of coffee stains on the back, he could tell that even in the memory, the paper was not a current issue. Astoria then rested her head against his shoulder, looking at the paper as well through sleepy eyes.

"I really thought things would have died out at least a _little_ bit," said Astoria with a hint of sympathy directed at Draco; "Merlin's beard, it's been four damn years since that rubbish came up. And I didn't think anyone would ever _actually_ say anything so vile to a little boy."

Current Draco immediately remembered what had happened that day, it was the first time they had decided to take the jump and bring Scorpius out in public. They didn't want to do anything that would take a long time in public, like running the errands or something. They just wanted to take their boy out for ice cream in Diagon Alley. They had probably spent all of twenty minutes out.

Past Draco's face looked red and swollen, like he was getting over a cry spell, and his brow was furrowed, a vein in his forehead began to show itself. He was angry and hurt beyond belief, and frustrated that anyone would say such horrible things to a four-year-old, let alone his own son.

Draco drew in a deep breath, trying to gain his composure, "People are horrible," he said in the steadiest voice he could muster. He started to shake his head and then ran his hand down his face in an attempt to calm down further. "He's so little, so young, and yet these adults who are willing to buy into rubbish readily attack not only _us,_ adults who can actually handle it, but our little boy! He's four! These are adults that are bringing him to tears in public! The man who looked him in the eye and called him 'evil filth', that nasty woman who spat at him, the countless people who pointed at him, stared, whispered awful things too loudly! It's—it's… I am utterly livid, Astoria. I mean, I—I can barely hold it in," he said, the rage building in his voice with every word. Current Draco was remembering the whole day, so vividly. He could not recall ever being so angered in his whole life.

"I—I know. I know. I feel the same. I'm baffled. I'm disgusted. I never should have suggested it. I just thought that—I don't know. I just assumed the best. I thought Scorp would have had fun to just go out for a little bit. See the world. Be normal," Astoria said as her eye began to mist; "I'm—I'm so sorry, Draco. This was all my fault."

"Astoria," Draco said, lifting her chin to look at her directly; "I wasn't blaming you, not at all. I am angry at _them_. The people who actually hurt Scorp. And I never would have agreed to go if I didn't think you were right about people at least trying to be _decent_ around a small boy. We just thought wrong."

Draco drew Astoria into a hug, rested his chin on the top of her head, and began to rub her back for a long moment. Astoria kept whispering things into Draco's shoulder, and he would mutter something back, but current Draco was not able to decipher what the either one was saying.

As the two finally pulled apart, Astoria asked, "So what do we do now? What do we do about Scorpius?"

"I reckon all we can do is protect him… keep him at home."

"But how will he be exposed to anything? I hate seeing him hurt too, but maybe—maybe it will toughen him up."

"He's four, he doesn't need to be toughened up just now."

"Well, Draco, we're damned if we do, we're damned if we don't. On one hand, he's safe. He won't get hurt. But he also will have no social skills. He'd have a hard time going off to Hogwarts. He won't have any firsthand experience in the world. But on the other hand, he's getting that real world experience at the expense of his happiness and his confidence."

Draco couldn't deny this reality. He couldn't deny how right Astoria was. There was no winning in this situation, and it was one of the first times that, as parents, they had to choose between the lesser of two evils. Current Draco was still sitting in the armchair off to the side, remembering this moment so clearly that he wasn't totally sure as to why he needed to siphon the memory and save it in the penseive in the first place. He remembered how flustered and frustrated he suddenly felt. He remembered thinking about wanting to do what was best for his son, but also knowing that none of their options were _really_ what was best for him. He remembered thinking about how his little boy was only able to handle a few minutes in the long line at Fortescue's before beginning to cry. He remembered thinking about how his little boy tugged at the hem of his sport coat to signal that he wanted his dad to crouch down to be at eye-level with him, only to whisper to his dad through thick sobs, 'Daddy, I don't want to get ice cream anymore'. He remembered being utterly heartbroken.

"I cannot pretend that I know what to do either. But for now, he is too little, and everything that happened to him today left him crying for hours. How's that going to affect him when he's older, Astoria? I say, for the time being, we just teach him in order to expose him to the world. Get him reading, show him some photos, teach him how to handle people—hopefully by the time he goes off to Hogwarts he'll feel ready. If he wants to go out before that, then that will be his choice. But I really feel that, for now at least, while he's still small, we should protect him," said Draco, looking at Astoria attentively, who looked back at him with a questioning look, clearly thinking over everything Draco had just said.

Astoria took a deep breath and said, "I think we can work with that as a plan. I hope. It's going to be hard once we send him off to Hogwarts though."

"I know, Astoria, but there's not going to be anything easy about people accusing him of being the son of that—that thing."

Suddenly the memory changed and thick, black clouds swirled around current Draco as the scene changed. He was young again, around eighteen, and he was in the large dining room of Pansy Parkinson's house. They were clearly still together, having some romantic meal together. Current Draco immediately remembered the circumstances they were under—it was a short while after the war had ended, and no one in the Malfoy family was willing to show their face in public at the time. They were still awaiting trial for the crimes they committed as Death Eaters, so they felt it necessary to isolate themselves from public opinion until their name was cleared.

Young Draco was sitting across from Pansy at the long table, looking over his steak with a sullen look on his face. It must have been only a few days or weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts because he still had some healing cuts visible. His was looked glazed-over and unfocused, clearly thinking about things in his head and totally distant from his actual surroundings. Pansy took notice, and she reached over from across the table and took half of his large hand into her small hand.

"Draco," she said with a concerned look on her face; "You're not having a good time."

This snapped Young Draco out of his trance immediately, he looked up at Pansy, almost looking stunned, as though he had been suddenly awakened from a long, deep sleep at some untimely point in a dream. Draco swallowed and looked at Pansy, not knowing what to say. He just remained silent and continued to look at his girlfriend.

"Ever since the war ended, you've been incredibly distant," she continued; "and I'm worried about you. Tell me, what's been on your mind?"

"Azkaban," Draco replied bluntly, almost callously.

"Right, I know that. But your parents were thinking that they had a pretty good defense up their sleeve—they betrayed him a few times on that day alone, that should be convincing, and—."

"—Do you think it was all worth it?" Draco asked, abruptly.

"Was what worth it?"

"Everything He did, everything he forced us all to do, all the awful things we had to do just so he wouldn't punish us—was it worth it?"

"I'm still not quite—."

"—All of that rubbish just to get rid of the mudbloods. What it worth it?"

Pansy's opened her mouth slightly, thinking over what she wanted to say, shocked. For the first time in all the time Pansy had known him, Draco had openly questioned the importance of blood supremacy, and Pansy could not fathom it. 'Has he gone mad?', 'Anything is worth it to set things right,' were amongst the many things running through Pansy's mind after Draco had said such a thing. After her brain finished shuffling through a litany of disorganized thoughts, her shock had finally worn off enough that she could formulate what to say.

"Draco, no matter how bad things got, you can't say that it wasn't for a noble cause," Pansy said in the most tender voice she could gather through her bewilderment and mild disgust.

"Look, Pansy, there's no way to drain the world of muggle-borns without committing genocide. The other option is to enslave them, but that's horrible too. How can anything be noble if you have to go through all of that just to accomplish it?" Draco asked, raising his voice with a tinge of frustration.

"You're mad. You've gone totally mad, Draco! Those people are scum to begin with, and the ends justify the means! And you know it, Draco. You just suddenly think it's all horrible because he actually forced you to get off your ass!", Pansy shouted back, no longer even trying to mask the disapproval in her voice.

"Oh come on, Pansy. I don't like them either, but when's the last time they've actually done anything _wrong?_ Maybe they are irritating. Maybe they aren't as good as us. But do they really deserve to _die_ , Pansy? Do you have _any_ real understanding of the value of death? Of life, even?"

Pansy angrily pursed her lips and slammed both of her palms onto the tabletop, looking Draco directly in the eyes through her furrowed brow and fiery expression, "There's no talking to you Draco. Let me know when you've got your sense back!" she said.

Pansy immediately began to storm out of the room with young Draco still at the dining room table, looking at her as she walked across the room, fuming. Current Draco was just calmly taking in every ounce of the memory, sitting at the head of the table, not really feeling much of any emotion other than frustrating at all the ignorant blithering he was hearing. Suddenly, young Draco shock up from out of his seat and pounded his fist on the table.

"It's over, Pansy! It's over! This shit is the literal _last_ god damn thing I need right now!" Draco screamed, with his face entirely red with rage, the vein in his forehead started to show itself again.

"Fine! Then leave!" Pansy shouted.

Once again, Current Draco's surroundings changed. As the black and silver clouds swirled around his face in the penseive, Draco was thinking about coming out of the memories, especially because of how upsetting the first two memories were. But he was so fixed on the prospect of escapism, that he decided to give the wretched device another chance. This time, he was in the bedroom to a flat—the flat Astoria lived in when she was young and first moved out from her parents' house. This memory must have been from when they were both quite young and had just started dating. Young Draco being around twenty and Astoria about eighteen. Current Draco was immediately pleased with how this memory was going to turn out. When he was with Astoria in the early days—when they were both young, and Astoria was significantly healthier—Draco experienced no sour emotions when he was around her. Astoria made Draco truly happy, a pure kind of happy that allowed Draco to not think of his troubles at all.

Young Draco was laying in Astoria's bed, halfway covered by a light gray sheet, and he was holding Astoria with one arm. Current Draco could only see half of her face due to it being mostly nestled in young Draco's neck. His shirtless chest was rising and falling slowly with every large, but relaxed breath he drew in, and it lifted Astoria up with him a touch. She then began to stir after a few moments of placidness, she hoisted herself up just enough to rest her chest on his and fold her arms under her chin.

She gave him a small smile, which young Draco returned, and asked, "How was it?"

Draco's grin grew wider, and he began to stroke her hair, clearly admiring her.

"Wonderful," he whispered breathlessly.

Astoria giggled softly through gently parted lips, then drew him in for a long, slow kiss. She then rested her forehead on his, and the two looked at each other lovingly—smiling, taking in every detail of one another's face. They were clearly both very smitten. After a long moment of quiet admiration for one another, Astoria's look of tenderness turned to one of a more serious nature.

"Draco, I think there is an elephant in the room."

Draco looked at her, awestruck. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed a touch, as though he was actually trying to decipher a riddle she had given him.

"I've only ever seen you wear long sleeves," she continued.

A look of comprehension suddenly donned on Draco—she was clearly referring to seeing his Dark Mark. His look of understanding was very quickly replaced with a look of embarrassment and shame. He had just spent a very wonderful, liberating, and intimate few hours with Astoria, totally not thinking of the faded, pinkish skull and serpent on his arm. All of that was shattered. Current Draco hated it when strangers or gossipers brought up his Dark Mark, and was only ever comfortable discussing such things with his wife and son. But young Draco was even more reserved about it, and preferred to discuss his time as a Death Eater with no one. While not angry, young Draco immediately felt and looked to be very stressed. His breath became somewhat shallower and quicker, his legs were visibly squirming under the blankets, and his face wore a look of intense worry.

Astoria immediately caught on to fact that she had brought up a sensitive topic and said very gently, "I knew you were involved with him, and I know about some of the mistakes you've made, I just—I just didn't know you were in the ranks."

Draco took notice of how kindly she was trying to say everything, he also knew how accepting and kind Astoria was, so his expression softened and he was partially soothed. Despite this, he could help but respond to Astoria rather harshly.

"I didn't want to be," he said sternly, almost defensively.

"No, no, no! That's not what I meant. I know you didn't want any of this—I just noticed it. That's all. I should never have brought it up, Draco. I'm—I'm sorry."

Draco thought for a minute, mostly just mulling over all of the bad memories he was recalling and all of the regret he felt, trying to pull himself together. If it were anyone else bringing up the Mark, Draco would have immediately felt a rush of rage and aggression, and would have resorted to shouting, but he refused to be that way with Astoria.

"Don't be sorry," he said finally; "We've been together for seven months, I should have told you—everything."

Astoria said nothing, she merely smiled softly and placed a consoling hand on Draco's shoulder. He smiled back feebly, still fighting off the vestiges of his sudden surge of distress. Astoria then grabbed his left wrist with both hands, then softly ran her finger along the Mark. She leaned down and kissed it twice, then placed the palm of her hand over it, as though sealing her kiss into it.

She then looked up at Draco, and her dark brown eyes stared directly into his grey ones, and she said definitively, "It only shows the man you used to be."

Draco leaned in to kiss her, and he experienced the most affectionate kiss he thought possible. With his left, defaced arm still cradled in Astoria's caring hands, Draco felt a jolt of happiness throughout his body—a jolt that was the first inkling of an honest and pure love that showed him she was the one.


End file.
